From the Ashes
by Esprit Libre
Summary: Roy comes back from Ishval and learns to live with himself. Eventual onesided RoyHughes. Um, warning, I update very slowly, and erratically. Please review.
1. Chapter 1

**_Fic: From The Ashes_**  
**Title:** From the Ashes (1/9)

**Pairing:** None at the moment. A bit of one-sided Roy/Hughes later on.

**Rating:** Low R for later chapters.

**Spoilers:** Episodes concerning the Ishbal War.

**Summary:** Roy comes back from Ishbal and learns how to live with himself.

**Author's Notes:** This idea came to me while listening to "Mr. Brightside" by the Killers. Each of the chapters will have a few lines of the song somewhere in it.

**Chapter 1**

I.

The alchemists were back.

He first heard about it from Hartman, the obnoxious 2nd Lieutenant in the General's entourage. Hartman was cocky, loud and thought too highly of himself just because he was a pencil pusher and not one of the grunts. Captain Maes Hughes didn't like him very much. He was rude, filthy, swaggered in a most unflattering way and he was about as intelligent as a bag of rats. Plus, he talked too much for his own good.

Of course, this was _exactly_ why Hughes put up with the imbecile.

Maes inwardly grinned. It never ceased to amaze him what idiots the military was willing to put up with just to fill its ranks. In a lot of ways, it was almost insulting. Really, if _he_, a measly Captain, could infiltrate the circle of Central's most influential General…

It was people like Hartman that gave the military a bad rep.

"Top secret, you say?" He murmured behind his coffee cup. Sharp green eyes peered over ceramic.

"What, you don't believe me?"

Hughes grinned broadly and slapped him on the back. "Far from it!" He sidled up and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "In fact, I'm rather jealous that you're getting all the juicy stuff."

Hartman looked faintly appeased.

"So, come on now, huh, huh?" He jabbed him in the stomach. "Don't leave me hanging here."

"Well, see, that's the strange part." The officer scratched his head. "It was just a delivery notice. A train of surplus war materials is coming-"

Green eyes widened.

"-in this Wednesday. Pretty odd thing to have in a confidential file. If you ask me, something big is going down. Maybe they're sending in the big guns."

Hartman didn't get the chance to say anything more. There was a blur of blue and before he realized it, he was alone.

**II.**

_The idiot's right about one thing._ He thought as he strode briskly through the halls. _Something big is happening._

His guess was way off the mark, though. The military wasn't shipping any armaments anywhere. It didn't need to, not with the State Alchemists there. Hughes had no interest in alchemy, but he knew quite a bit about it, having grown up with a budding alchemist as his closest friend. He'd been there for every single one of Roy's experiments, both good and bad, until Roy discovered his fascination with fire. Then Roy decided that his hobby was too dangerous to share.

That, in Maes' eyes, was the point where Roy became the Flame Alchemist. Because after that, he changed. He became more focused, more driven to learn. The brashness of youth turned into confidence in himself and his abilities and there was something in his eyes that spoke of untold power.

The entire town knew about it, too. They whispered about the demon child behind closed doors and refused to acknowledge him in public. By unspoken agreement, Roy became the outcast of their community. Many a time his friend would show up at his doorstep, bruised and bleeding, those black eyes burning with defiance, silently daring him to say a word. And he would take him in, patch him up, beat the story out of him and they'd smoke a cigarette afterwards. Because there wasn't much he _could_ do. Roy had chosen this path, chosen to teach himself this strange science. And he'd refused to let Maes walk by his side. So Hughes followed from behind. And he developed a fondness for handheld projectiles along the way.

Eventually, those whispers drove them out and into the military where Roy once again made waves. Not for being an alchemist, but for not only being the first Private to be promoted to Major within his first two years but also being the youngest person ever to pass the State Alchemist exams.

He'd never actually seen Roy in action; Roy would rather incapacitate than set his opponent on fire. But he knew enough; he had no doubt that Roy was a dangerous bastard. And if the higher ups had enough confidence in their ability that they'd recall all their troops, that said a lot. Hughes was under no illusion that they were doing anything for the soldiers' sakes. They wanted to get the job done and had no qualms on how they did it. They just didn't want any unnecessary losses in manpower.

And now they were shipping in a train full of "surplus war materials".

Bullshit.

He'd been keeping tabs on the war ever since Roy was called to duty. He had more information than Hartman. There was _nothing_ out East that was unrelated to alchemy.

That train was full of State Alchemists. And if they were smuggling them back, then that meant that the Alchemists had done their job and there most likely wasn't anything left _to_ fight.

Hughes grimaced. He'd been against the war from the very beginning. It was partly the reason he chose to join Intelligence. Roy was the only reason for his interest. He did what he needed to keep an eye on his best friend.

His best friend who hadn't bothered to tell him he was coming back.

That thought worried him a whole lot more.

His hand shook as he picked up the public phone. "Hello, operator? Please transfer me to the Ishval camp. My access number is..."

**III.**

Somewhere out in the countryside, the shrill whistle of a steam locomotive pierced the early morning silence. Moments later, the heaving metal monster rumbled down the tracks, deafening the area and sending a large gale of wind over the fields of crops.

The train car swayed in time to the rumble of the steam engine. The clackety-clack of metal striking metal had long since ceased to be a nuisance and was now a comfort in its repetitiveness. What would normally be a cabin buzzing with conversation and noise was oddly muted. The passengers talked in hushed whispers and strained smiles and even the occasional shuffle of cards being dealt could not penetrate the gloom that weighed heavily on them all.

They were a sorry bunch, haggard and unshaven, eyes bloodshot from either not enough sleep, too much drink or a combination of the two.

Someone scratched furiously at his cast. The medic sitting next to him slapped him upside the head. This started a heated debate on the dangers of tampering with your bandages. Across from them, a pair looked up briefly at the commotion then calmly returned to their game of poker. On the other side, a burly, balding man entertained his section with a rousing rundown of his family history.

One man sat alone in the back.

He had about him a dark aura that discouraged any attempts at company. Not that any of the other passengers would even think about coming near him. They all respected his choice to wallow in misery. He was their youngest and he'd taken it the hardest, letting it affect him to the point where he was teetering on the edge of sanity.

Even Kimblee stayed away, probably because he knew that there wouldn't be a bucket of water to save him this time.

There was nothing about Major Roy Mustang that drew attention. Slim, of average height, with dark hair and the pale skin of the North. Tousled black hair that stuck out in every which way, despite obvious attempts to control it, gave him the carefree appearance of youth that was complimented by his childlike features. He was one of the very few on board that didn't look like he'd just stepped off of the battlefield. His dark fatigues were clean and pressed, his boots shiny. Over that, he wore a large overcoat that while neat, looked well-worn and much loved. If not for some very obvious details, he would seem to be just another young man in his early 20s, fresh out of the university and ready to take on the world.

Dark eyes stared out at the window, uncaring of the scenery that flew by. His mind was curiously blank of all thought save for a deep, unmitigated guilt he knew was impossible to escape. And so, he embraced it, allowed it to fill him and envelop him in its cruel embrace.

He sat stiffly in his seat, slightly hunched into his coat without realizing it. He hadn't moved since the train left the last station – save to eat once and go to the bathroom twice. A small part of him was afraid that if he did move, the cast-iron wall he'd put up around himself would shatter and he would lose whatever bit of sanity he had left. This state of nothingness was the only thing keeping him together in some warped semblance of normalcy. He lived in the present, enough so that he could go through mechanical motions of getting up, getting ready and putting one foot in front of the other. It had been that way since that godforsaken day out in the battlefield and it would continue until he reached his destination.

Where he could finally let go, behind closed doors, and no one would be the wiser.

So he never shifted, never twitched, never let his eyes leave that point in space he could no longer see. He had been staring out the window for so long that his vision had turned inward and all he could see were flames and darkness.

His ears hurt from the screams.

The train pushed steadily on, neither speeding nor faltering, doing its duty to send these poor souls home and possibly giving them the time to recoup until they faced the real world once more.

**IV.**

Central was the heart of Amestris.

From the very start, it had been carefully cultivated to be the largest city in the nation as befitting its role as home of the Fuhrer. It boasted of massive libraries, research buildings, merchant corporations, and a vivid social life. Central was the place to be and all the intellectuals, businessmen and lost souls flocked into the city to try their luck and make something of their lives.

Part of it was due to its geographical location. Central, situated in the middle of the country, cut down on travel time to and from other cities. While technology had gone far in terms of transportation, lengthy travel was still tedious business. So while most cities and towns tended to keep to themselves, Central was able to reach out and remain well-informed about all goings on.

Another factor was the obvious presence of the military. Central not only housed King Bradley and his family, but the many men and women who had pledged their lives in service of him and his country. Headquarters was the nerve center of the military. Majority of the people enlisted were brought here for training and those currently not in war or stationed at a post were kept occupied here. This was also where the State Alchemists set up camp…at least until they were all shipped off to assist with the Eastern Rebellion.

So it shouldn't really be that surprising to find the train station bustling with activity. The air was a hubbub of noise, the whistles and groans of passing trains mixing in with people yelling and shouting to be heard. Bodies where everywhere, pushing and shoving, without a second thought spared for those they barreled through. That was probably the first lesson you learned in Central: shove or be shoved. No one really paid attention to any life other than theirs.

In the midst of it all stood a dark haired man like a quiet island in a turbulent ocean. He was clad in simple clothing that normally would have made him fair game. However, the perturbed green eyes peering over rectangle glasses was enough to make everyone steer clear.

Outwardly, he showed no signs of anxiety. In his mind, he was a jumble of emotions, worry and apprehension fighting for dominance and fear tumbling over the mess just for fun. He still wasn't sure whether he should have come out here without Roy knowing about it. At least if he'd managed to talk to him beforehand, he could have gotten a gauge on the alchemist's state of mind. But by the time he'd found out about this entire thing and made the call, the entire camp had already packed up and moved out.

The next two days had been spent in constant debate between Hughes the friend and Hughes the soldier. One part of him wanted nothing more than to be the first face Roy saw in Central. Another part of him knew very well that company was the last thing Roy would want, not with his wounds so fresh. As his friend, he would either be a welcome distraction or a reminder of the warmth he had robbed others of.

Then there was a small part of him that was afraid of the changes that may have happened.

In the end, it was Gracia who made his choice for him.

_"You're his best friend, Maes Hughes. Whether he realizes it or not, he needs you right now and it's your job to take care of him until he can do it again."_

And so, here he was. He thanked the heavens for having such a perceptive girlfriend who wasn't afraid to order him around. The fact that she was fond of Roy didn't hurt either.

A train came to a whining stop.

"Central Station! Central Station!"

Maes lifted his head and over the crowd, he could see a wave of dark-clad men spilling out of the cars. They looked horrible, so thin and so weary, walking slow and awkward as if they bore a heavy weight on their backs. This was a drastic transformation from the grim but determined group 6 months earlier.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a head of unruly dark hair. A second glance confirmed his suspicions. It was Roy, clad in that ridiculously large coat he'd gotten him for Christmas a few years back. Without even realizing it, he was already moving, pushing his way to the front of the mob.

He made sure to plant himself where Roy had no choice but to notice him.

Pale blank features twisted into surprise. Roy's mouth opened and closed. Then he was running; dropping his bag and diving into the arms of his oldest friend.

_I'm coming out of my cage  
And I've been doing just fine  
Gotta gotta be down  
Because I want it all_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
I.**

He took him home, back to the apartment thoughtfully provided for him by the military. Roy had protested at first, saying that he had a perfectly comfortable room waiting for him in the dorms, but Maes wouldn't hear it.

That desperate act of relief back at the train station firmly convinced him that the best way for Roy to heal was here with him, where he could provide all the support the man needed.

Roy must have realized this too, or seen that there was no changing his mind. He stopped trying to convince him that he was fine and instead settled on grumbling about having to share quarters with a lazy slob who couldn't cook. 

Which was better, in Maes' opinion. Insults he could deal with. An unbalanced Flame taking offense was something he would rather avoid.

Roy had little by way of possessions. Not surprising, considering the military provided all their needs. Everything he owned could be summed up in a big metal footlocker and a standard-issue canvas duffel bag. The metal locker stayed in his assigned room, along with everything else not urgently needed.

To Maes' surprise, Roy's books stayed behind.

**II.**

The first morning, Hughes woke up to a collection of enticing scents, under which there was a faint trace of…_smoke_? He stumbled out of bed and down the hallway, sure that he was going to find his apartment trashed and Roy –

- making breakfast?

Roy stood in the middle of his kitchen primly dressed in khakis, a blue shirt and bare feet. In his hands, he held a whisk and a dented metal bowl. The shorter man gave him a brief glance. He continued batting the eggs.

Hughes stood there a moment, torn between relief and guilt. Relieved that his kitchen was still in one piece and guilty that he had sorely underestimated his friend's control. He pushed off the wall and sat down at the small table. He didn't bother to offer his assistance, knowing that he would be useless to the man deftly making his way around the kitchen.

One hand expertly flipped the bacon and paused to adjust the temperature; the other busily cracked eggs into a waiting pan.

Hughes rested his chin on his hands and sighed dreamily. This was going to be so great; he could imagine it now: the two of them living as a family and every morning, Roy would make him wonderful breakfasts with eggs and pancakes and syrup and French toast…

Roy set a plate of food in front of him and sat down to eat his own, ignoring him completely.

Well, okay, maybe not the happy family part, but Roy seemed set on making breakfast every morning and that's what counted.

Maes studied his friend. Roy was, as always, the picture of serenity even while shoveling food into his mouth. A closer look, however, revealed that all was not as it seemed. His cheeks were paler than usual and he was certain that the bags under his eyes had gotten heavier. He looked like he had not only been awake all night, but also had been under stress as well.

"Roy."

The younger man paused in his eating.

"Do you get nightmares?"

Dark eyes simply scowled at him in reply.

"I mean it, Roy. You look like shit." The only thing that bothered him was that he hadn't noticed a thing. He wasn't exactly a light sleeper and the walls were pretty thin. He would have heard the noise…

He noticed a faint redness and signs of bruising around his friend's mouth. A cold feeling of dread washed over him. 

He shoved his chair away from the table and stomped into the living room.

"Maes?" Roy hovered nervously by the doorway.

Maes was too furious to answer. He attacked the couch, sending cushions flying everywhere. Finding nothing, he moved on to the rest of the furniture, too intent on his search to care that he was systematically destroying his living room.

He found it in the drawer next to the armchair. It looked so innocuous in his hands. He unfolded it. There was a large patch of wetness speckled with drops of red.

"What," He growled, waving the rumpled handkerchief. "Is this?"

A vague shrug. "It looks like a hanky. Do you have some sort of aversion towards cotton?"

Hughes gritted his teeth. He was going to _strangle_ the sanctimonious son-of-a-bitch. He crossed the room in three strides and had his hands on the man's collar before either of them could blink.

"You little fucker, you were gagging yourself last night, weren't you? Do you not have any sense in that brilliant head of yours?" His voice grew louder with every word. "What if you'd choked? You could have suffocated!"

Roy didn't struggle, just stared at him with those dark, bleak eyes.

Hughes let go and stumbled back. He put a hand up to steady himself. "You didn't care, did you?" He whispered hoarsely. "You didn't want to wake me up so you took the risk because if you did die…"

Roy rubbed his neck and ran a hand through his hair. "Two birds with one stone, Maes." He murmured.

Hughes squeezed his eyes tight. A horrible feeling settled on his chest. He couldn't think, could barely breathe. He just shook his head and leaned on his arm, trying to control the whirlwind of emotions inside.  
His right fist made a satisfying dent in the wall.

When he looked up, Roy was gone. Maes hurriedly dressed and fled the apartment.

That night, Roy wordlessly handed him the freshly opened pack of handkerchiefs.

And his gloves.

**III.**

Days passed and the two of them settled into a rhythm. He woke up to Roy making breakfast. They ate. He went to work. Roy stayed because he had been granted a month's leave. He came home at night to the sight of his friend sprawled out on the couch, bottles littered all over the living room floor. He would clean the mess, take out the cigars and make himself comfortable on the armchair. After a while, Roy would start talking. 

Sometimes, Maes joined in.

If Roy was in an affable mood.

That was the only time Roy really talked. Meals were a one-sided affair with Maes chattering about his day and whatever bits of gossip he could think of. He filled Roy in on who was doing who, which receptionist was playing hard-to-get, which officer was jealous of another's promotion. He did it because he knew what Roy was trying to do and he wasn't going to let it happen. He refused to let the alchemist bury himself in his isolation.

However, their nighttime sessions were another matter. He let Roy set the pace on those.

Roy eventually would pass out and Maes would get him horizontal and tug off his shoes and shirt and wrap him in a blanket before putting away the leftover alcohol and cigars. He'd check on him one last time, to make sure he was comfortable, then he'd retreat to his own bed to sleep.

Neither of them mentioned the war. Or the gloves in Hughes' bedside table.

**IV.**

"I killed someone." Roy announced drunkenly. "Just thought you should know that."

At last. Maes stayed silent.

Roy eyed him blearily. "Aren't you going to say something?"

"You were in battle, Roy. It happens."

Roy reeled back. An array of emotions passed over his features.

"Roy, you can't have war without casualties. It's just-"

Roy was on him in a flash, pressing him down on the cushions. He bared his teeth, wild-eyed and crazy. "Is this just war, Maes?" He growled. He mimicked a gun barrel with his index finger and pressed it to Maes' temple. "Would you be _'just another casualty'_ if I shot you right here, right now?"

Maes swallowed. This was not going to be pretty.

Roy threw himself to his feet and lurched back. He readied to snap. In his drunken state, he didn't seem to realize that his hands were bare.

Maes reached up and stopped the motion.

_Don't do this to yourself, Roy._

Roy hesitated. The trembling gaze focused and Maes suddenly felt cold.

His eyes were looking _through_ him.

"They just looked at me." His voice caught. "They were terrified, you could see it in their eyes. A man and a woman. Doctors, the both of them. They were married and had a little girl waiting for them at home."  
_A family…_

Hughes wearily closed his eyes. He could feel nausea climbing up his throat.

Roy turned away and wrapped his arms around himself. He suddenly looked so small and young. Hughes reached out a hand.

Roy didn't move.

"They were good people. _Good people_." He said distantly. "I never got to know them. They were always out in the field, even if they weren't on duty. They didn't care what side you were on. If you were hurt and needed help, they gave it, no questions asked. And everyone in camp knew how much they loved their kid. They talked about her all the time." He paused. "I went to their tent, once. For a physical. Pictures of her were everywhere. A sweet little girl, so happy, and she obviously adored her parents." Roy screwed his eyes shut, face filled with self-loathing. "Now she'll never see them again."

Maes pulled him into a hug. The man was trembling. He ran his hand up and down, trying to soothe the tremors. Roy stiffened in surprise, then latched on fiercely, sagging in his arms.

Maes put a hand on Roy's nape to steady him.

"I still remember what she looks like." His muffled voice confessed. "I can't get her out of my head. I can't get them out of my head. Is this my punishment, Maes?" Roy said miserably. "Am I supposed to remember for the _rest_ of my _life_?"

Maes didn't know what to say. No lie could make it better. The truth was too painful to bear. He couldn't help but see the tragic irony of it, however, and this was a thought he would never share with his friend.

While Roy would carry those images with him in the years to come, that little girl would grow up and be left with nothing more than a hazy recollection of the parents she had lost.

"Did you want to kill them, Roy?" He quietly asked.

Roy snapped his head up, suddenly sober. Onyx eyes stared at him in disbelief. "Do you seriously think-" He broke off, growing angry. "I was ordered to, Maes!"

"Did they give you a choice?"

Roy glared at him, fury back in full force. "Of course not!" He tried to shove free. "Let me go!"

Maes held fast. "Then it wasn't your murder, Roy." He tightened his hand on Roy's neck, forcing the alchemist to meet him in the eye. "He gave you the order. It's his sin, not yours."

Roy was already shaking his head. "My hand, Maes. My gun. I could have said no. I could have-"

Maes shook him by the neck. "You could have gotten yourself killed. Kicked out, at the least. And how would you do your research then?"

"I could have escaped!"

"And gotten yourself hunted down?" Maes countered.

Roy was quiet. He furrowed his brow, more perturbed than cross. He gently pushed Maes away and wandered back to the couch. He flopped down haphazardly, arm over his face.

Maes frowned, confused by the sudden change in demeanor. He had a strange feeling Roy wasn't telling him something. He crouched next to the couch.

"Roy," he started uncertainly. "You have to realize you were just a tool. All of you."

Roy didn't reply. "How did you know about Gran?" He asked instead.

"I did a little research," Maes admitted.

Roy raised his arm slightly and gave him a smirk. "You mean you snooped."

Maes grinned. He carefully ignored the silent tears that Roy was trying to hide. "I did what I do best. I'm not ashamed of that." He leaned closer. "And you shouldn't be, either."

Roy suddenly rolled over and buried his face against Maes' shoulder.

Just like that, the dam fell.

"I killed people, Maes. Oh god, I killed people." Roy mumbled brokenly, his voice thick.

"Shh, Roy. Shhh." Maes stroked black strands, unmindful of the tears soaking his shirt.

Roy shook his head violently. "You don't _understand_! What I did – it wasn't natural. It wasn't alchemy. I never should have had that capability. It wasn't me…but I made it happen. I did it. We did it. We played god and those people didn't stand a chance."

Pitting State Alchemists against a firmly anti-alchemical and backwards society? No. There was nothing fair about the whole thing. Maes had hated the idea from the beginning and now couldn't help feeling disgusted that the Fuhrer would fall so low as to allow this mockery.

Roy moved away and rested his head on his pillow. He wiped ineffectively at the tears. "Sometimes, I wonder if she's okay," Roy muttered. His eyes were falling shut. "I hope she's got someone to take care of her."

"I'm sure she does, Roy." Maes smoothed unruly hair off his friend's forehead and planted a kiss on damp skin. "Now go to sleep. I'll take care of you."

Roy smiled in his sleep. And for one night, had no dreams.

_It started out with a kiss  
How could it end up like this?  
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss_


End file.
